


One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

by Soulhearts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Baby Becky, Baby Dean, Cursed Dean Winchester, Daddy!Cas, Daddy!Sam, Gen, infant, wrote this a while back...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:18:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulhearts/pseuds/Soulhearts
Summary: Sam and Dean visit the Rosen's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a random story that kind of came out of nowhere 6 months ago. I only just got around to editing it now so shows you how lax I am at these things...

**One, Two, Buckle My Shoe**

 

If there was one thing in this world that regressed—(cursed)—twenty-six year old/(eighteen-month old) Dean hated more than anything else, it was visiting the Rosen's.

He always knew when it was happening. His Daddy would strap him into the car seat, humming some tuneless song under his breath, and he'd get this god awful sense of dread which just pooled in his stomach. Call it a leftover from his hunter life, but Dean could always tell when something bad was going to happen.

Twenty-two years ago his father, John, decided that Dean was no longer a helpless child. He had to pull his weight. Take care of himself, learn by himself. Except their last hunt together had changed all of that. All because of a stupid curse from some bat-eared bitch witch!

Physically and mentally, he'd regressed into a toddler.

He hadn't even been able to find it within himself at the time to hate his dad who'd just left him on the front steps of a busy hospital, figuring someone would simply find Dean and take him in. John abandoning him was just another fact of life. It wasn't the first time, though perhaps it would be the last.

Dean had always known that if the choice ever came between him or finding and killing the monster that had killed his mother, his dad would choose the latter, without hesitation. He always had. To John, Dean was nothing more than a burden in his blood-thirsty search for revenge, and he'd let him know it too.

Dean had grown up as a hunter's child through and through, but the choices his father made didn't give cause for Dean to resent him, after all, what right did he have to do so? Not to say that there hadn't been times when he'd wished for a do-over, for someone to hit the refresh button so he could have a new childhood. It was just that, when he'd wished for reset, he'd never really expected it to come true and he'd kind of hoped it would have a lot more of his mother in it. In reality, the curse had left him useless, defenceless and then, suddenly abandoned by the single member family he had, only to be adopted by the most sprightly couple he'd ever met. It had been hard for him to settle, hell, he was still settling, but he had at least a little more grip on his new reality than he had had nine months ago when he'd first met the couple and they'd looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, rather than the abandoned infant that he was.

Sam Winchester liked to refer to himself as “Daddy”, whereas Castiel Winchester preferred “Papa”. He'd learned to get on board pretty quick with that, as it was Daddy and Papa who provided almost all the things Dean needed, like food, a cot, a roof over his head and diaper changes, and hell, sometimes he even enjoyed their cuddles as they cooed over him―something Dean thought they'd be over by now, but nope, they were first time parents, the novelty was somehow still new for them.

Except today, Dean would have given almost anything for his Daddy to stay on the couch with him and cuddle, because he did _not_ want to go to the Rosen's. Not that he was going to cry about it because, no, he wasn't a real eighteen-month old, he was a twenty-six year old man and damn anyone who would make him admit his brain had done a lot more regressing than he thought it should have. Daddy―Sam―usually picked up on his discomfort even without Dean showing any signs of it because, well, he was pretty sure the dude was baby-psychic… that, or he'd read _way_ too many new-age parenting books, the kind Dean was sure his Father, John, would have thoroughly disapproved of.

Today though, Dean must've hidden his discomfort a little too well, because his daddy didn't pick up even a hint of it as he strapped his son into the back-seat of his car with mindless humming. Perhaps Dean should have kicked up more of a fuss at that moment, but he didn't, he never did. He simply sat complacently in the car seat and waited for the familiar rumble of the engine.

Mr. and Ms. Rosen were nice enough people, a little quirky for his tastes, but nice enough. It was Becky, their daughter, same age as Dean, that he absolutely fucking hated with a passion.

Becky was the kind of person Dean had aimed to avoid in his old life; the crazy type. The type that fixated on one thing and made it their whole world and, unfortunately for him, Becky had chosen his Daddy to be the center of hers.

“Hey sugarplum,” Daddy smiled at him as he cast a glance in the rear view mirror. “What's the sour face for?”

Dean didn't bother replying, the baby-babble he'd been forced to adopt as his main source of communication would not help him here. He simply scowled and looked out the window, already feeling that dread starting to rise.

Daddy frowned at him and Dean caught the look out the corner of his eye.

“Deanie, you seem a little grumpy today… aren't you going to be a good boy for me at the Rosen's?” his daddy continued.

“I don't think you understand the situation here,” Dean finally grumbled in a huffy voice. He didn't care if his daddy didn't get the message, he was going to say it out loud anyway, someone had too and it wasn't going to be Bumble, because no matter what Papa said or how much he pretended, the fucking plushie bee couldn't talk to his daddies. Besides, if Bumble could talk, he certainly wouldn't be asking Dean to take a bath.

“I don't want to go to the Rosen's,” he continued, throwing his hands up in the air, the movement unfortunately coming out as more of a whole body jerk. “I don't like going there because Becky is always all over you. She knows she has her own daddy, right? You're my daddy and you never play with me when we're over there because Becky always gets to you first. All I wanted to do today was lie on the couch with you and watch movies, but you've gone and ruined my whole day!”

Sam nodded thoughtfully, as though he was taking in everything Dean was saying, but from the smile on his lips, Dean knew his Daddy understood none of his mad grumbles. Fucking hell, he just wanted to slap the man!

“That's very interesting, Dean,” Daddy said, looking as though he was contemplating what Dean had said, though from his comment alone, it only served to make Dean grumpier.

The rest of the drive was silent aside from the quiet tunes coming from the radio. Daddy would occasionally tap his thumb on the steering wheel to a tune and whilst Dean would normally dance and sing whenever 'Eye of the Tiger' came on, today he ignored it. Another subtle sign that something was amiss, another sign that his daddy completely missed. Maybe he'd been too quick to stick that baby-psychic label on his daddy, he was sure doing a crappy job of using his powers today.

When they pulled into the Rosen's driveway, Dean frowned even harder than before and pouted the whole time his Daddy attempted to extricate him from his seat.

“Come on Pumpkin, you're not usually like this…” Sam sighed, kissing Dean's forehead.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, Dean's sulky forest-green one's meeting his daddy's puppy-dog brown, but Dean wasn't giving up his sulk today, not even for the miserable look his daddy was giving. After burying his head into Sam's shoulder, he refused to move it from that position.

“Hiya Sam!” Ms. Rosen greeted after hearing the knock on her door.

Dean knew without looking that Ms. Rosen had Becky on her hip, just like Sam was holding Dean. The little kid was the nosiest little creep he'd ever met.

“DE!” She shrieked happily, spying him in his daddy's arms. “De! De! De!”

Dean still didn't move his face from where it was hiding in his daddy's shoulder though. If anything, her shouts only made him want to hide even more.

“Hey there Sandra,” Sam greeted Becky's mother, shifting Dean in his arms so he could hold him better. “How'ya doing?”

“Fine, fine!” She replied brightly, “Come on in!”

Sam thanked her for having them over as he strode across the Rosen's threshold and made his way to the lounge room, the way with which he was already familiar. He settled onto the couch as Sandra made her way into the room as well. Dean heard her setting Becky down and only five seconds later, Dean felt a tug on the hem of his daddy's pants, upon which his butt was sitting.

“Is Dean tired today?” Sandra asked, easing herself onto the couch opposite to Dean's daddy.

A large hand brushed over his head at her words and he was comforted for a brief moment before his daddy spoke.

“I think he's just a little grumpy today is all,” Sam sighed. “Honestly, I love him like I've never loved anyone, but he does tired Cas and I out.”

Dean heard Sandra chuckle and reassure him that he wasn't the first person to say that about their kid, but Dean only gripped his daddy's shirt tighter in his little fist. Was he… a nuisance? A few tiny tears leaked out of his eyes and he cursed his regressed brain for bringing his emotions so close to the surface. He tired out his daddy and papa? Was he really that bad? He knew John hadn't been able to handle him as an infant, that's why he'd given Dean up in the first place, but was he so bad that even his patient, loving daddy's were getting tired of him?

Dean swallowed back his tears. He couldn't be like this, he had to be better. If there was any chance in hell that his daddies were getting tired of him, then he needed to show them he could be good, because if he didn't have them, then… he didn't have anyone.

He pulled his head out of the nook in Sam's shoulder and the action served to draw the bigger man's eyes to him.

“Hey, Baby,” Daddy said, smiling down at Dean.

Dean looked up at his Daddy, eyes flicking up for the comfort he sought. His Daddy simply continued to smile at him and wiped away the tears that had managed to escape his control.

“What are the tears for?” He cooed, rubbing Dean's back with the other hand.

Sam wouldn't say that the development of tears wasn't worrying to him. Despite what he said to Sandra Rosen, Dean was the best behaved toddler he'd ever come across―and that wasn't him being biased either. Dean didn't scream, or whine, or cry, or throw random objects across the room for no reason. Everything Dean did had a purpose behind it. He was an incredibly smart child, anyone could see that, and Sam was more than just a little proud.

Dean pulled away even further from his Daddy, though he was more than a little reluctant to do so, forcing himself to detach. Yet, despite how much he wanted to stay on his Daddy's lap, he knew he couldn't. He was exhausting his daddy and he didn't want to give the man any more reasons to do away with him. So, he squirmed in his daddy's hold and, predictably, he was set onto the floor, where he had a hard time seeing above the mountains of toys, each pile acting like its own separate Mount Doom.

The Rosen's living room was a mess with toys. Becky seemed to pull all her toys out and never put them away, something that bothered Dean more than he'd admit. Even in his “past life” he'd never been this messy. If he had been, he probably would have lost something really important in one of hundreds of motels John and he had stayed at every year; a trait that had carried over. He was always putting his toys back in their rightful places, too afraid that he might lose something. He'd never really had toys the first time round. A few bits and pieces here and there, but nothing special, stuff like army men that his dad had bought on a fifty-cent sale and a discounted box of Lego he'd received one birthday. It was kind of a novelty that his daddies spent so much money on his toys, because he'd seen how much some of them cost.

Dean crawled over to Becky's Duplo box, one of the things she (fortunately) never played with, and started pulling pieces out and sticking them one on top of the other, making sure they clicked together before adding the next block. He was building his dad's car, a '67 Chevy Impala, except in a multitude of colours rather than it's traditional sleek, inky black.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Becky get picked up by his Daddy as Sandra left the room, presumably to fetch her and Sam their usual morning tea, and he rolled his eyes and went back to his blocks. Predictable. So predictable. He did notice, however, that Daddy's eyes never left him as he sat and played quietly in the corner, but unfortunately, Becky also noticed.

Dean was so engrossed by his Duplo project that he failed to notice that the other baby had been set down and had toddled over to him, until she was almost on top of him. He squawked in surprise and toppled sideways as she sat down next to him, picking up his dropped Impala, which, now that he looked at it, resembled more of a tower than a car.

Dean grumbled as he righted himself and he didn't fail to notice the smirk that flittered across her face.

“I want my car back.” He demanded in baby-babble, already reaching for the Duplo car because he knew she didn't understand him.

She twisted her body away from him instantly, preventing him from taking back his construction, as she started pulling it apart.

He jolted, becoming furious as he made another desperate bid to rescue his project.

“Give it back!” He shouted, reaching for the Duplo car being pulled apart by Becky's feral hands.

Becky ignored him and held him at arms length. As far a baby's went, Becky was definitely more coordinated than him, which irritated him to an impossible degree. He'd already learn how to do this stuff once, he should be better at this, damn it!

Dean stopped shouting and rocked back on his butt, tears in his eyes. All his hard work, gone. Becky had torn apart his car with her bare hands and that made him wildly emotional. The car was nothing but blocks again and Becky turned back to him for a brief moment with a gleam in her eye before returning to his daddy, who had missed the whole exchange due to his engaging conversation with Sandra. Becky was picked up without a second thought and she curled into Dean's daddy happily.

On the floor, Dean sat with bits of Impala-Duplo scattered around him. It was like the car had had the worst crash of it's existence, all but annihilating it.

Dean picked up a red piece and held it in his hand for a moment, before letting it fall to the floor.

He hated Becky.

Crawling down between the side of the couch and the wall, Dean made himself purposefully small as he started to cry. There were no wailing tears or dramatic sobs, just simple tears that made tracks down his puffy, red cheeks and the occasional hiccup. He was having such a bad day and being small was hard. He just wanted to go home, curl up on his daddy's lap and maybe have some comfort food or perhaps a bottle.

He didn't notice the silence in the room until he saw his daddy looming above him, a piteous, but somewhat shocked expression on his face. He wasn't carrying Becky anymore and Dean wondered if she'd perhaps fallen asleep in his daddy's arms and had subsequently been put to bed.

“Oh, sweet-pea, what are you doing down there?” Sam cooed at the small boy tucked away between the couch and the wall.

Reaching under his baby's arms, he pulled Dean out from his hidey-hole.

Dean curled into him and clung tightly. Didn't his Daddy say he was so lucky to have Dean, that he was everything he and Cas wanted and more? Dean was scared and worried. What would he do if his daddy's didn't need him anymore?

“Sandra?” He called softly, so as not to wake Becky, as he headed into the kitchen.

The woman, cutting fruit, looked up at his and Dean's arrival and appeared to know what he was going to say just by looking at the two of them.

“Dean and I are going to head off,” he said anyway, watching her face soften as her eyes fell on Dean, who was still crying into his shirt. “I'm sorry we couldn't stay longer, but Dean's been a bit moody all day, so I think it's best if I take him home.”

Sandra just smiled.

“Of course, Sam.” She replied, putting down the knife and wiping her fruit juice covered hands on a tea towel. “I'll see you out.”

So, Dean and Sam left the Rosen's house, for Dean, not a moment too soon, and drove home. Dean ended up falling asleep on the way back, only to be awakened by his Daddy pulling him out of his car seat and he immediately resumed his clingy starfish position as Daddy took them inside, refusing to let go without a fuss.

“Come on, Pumpkin,” Daddy said, patting his diaper-clad bottom as they made way to the kitchen. “Let's get you a bottle, hmm?”

Dean didn't reply, just sucked on his thumb embarrassingly. It was strange that every time he tried to pull his thumb out of his mouth, his regressed brain wouldn't let him. It was really difficult when Dean tried to be both a twenty-three year old man in his mind and a baby in his body, usually one won over the other and, more often than he'd care to admit, it was the baby part of him that won. That knowledge was… unsettling, but Dean couldn't freak out about it anymore than he did, so he just let it happen most days.

His thumb sucking was interrupted when his Daddy purposefully moved his hand away from his face and he considered whining about it for a second, before it was replaced with the taste of warm milk. His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked on the teat of the bottle, the warm milk settling nicely in his belly as he drifted into sleep.


End file.
